


Two Guys, A Girl, and an Oxford Comma (or, Heartbroken and Hungover)

by BloodAndRosesBitch



Category: Two Guys a Girl and a Pizza Place
Genre: Babysitting, Drunk Kissing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Heartbreak, I use a lot of words in this, Light Angst, M/M, Not literally, Sharon abandons Berg in his time of need but its okay because Pete is there, but then they clarify the next morning, sorta drunken coffessions, which you can see by the word count, while hungover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29526183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodAndRosesBitch/pseuds/BloodAndRosesBitch
Summary: Set after the season 2 episode, "Two Guys, a Girl, and Oxford." Berg is heartbroken after Ashley decides to give her boyfriend a chance in Boston, so he gets drunk. Twice. Once, by himself alone and in the dark. The second time, with Pete, on (sort of) accident. For once in their lives, the drinking actually leads to something good.
Relationships: Michael Bergen/Pete Dunville
Kudos: 1





	Two Guys, A Girl, and an Oxford Comma (or, Heartbroken and Hungover)

**Author's Note:**

> I did not mean for this to go on so long. I had a ton of fun writing it, and I hope that shows through! Happy reading!

When Johnny drove Pete and Berg home that night, it was silent. No one spoke. Not even the wind whistled around or against the metal body of his truck, and the snow that had begun to fall fell softly, as if the whole of nature understood how it felt to have your heart broken in two and then again and again and again until you weren't sure you could feel it anymore. Berg stared out the window, watching the street light on the concrete as they rolled down the dark Boston streets. He closed his eyes, let out a little sigh, and tried to focus on the coldness of the air around him and the warmth of Pete's body squished an uncomfortable amount up to his. Tried to ground himself in the real things of this world, and forget about stupid fantasies that he was stupid to have in the first place and where they could've gone if they were real. Pete glanced over at him. His eyes were glittering, and it would have been pretty if the whole night hadn't been... Pete wanted to do something, wanted to comfort him somehow, or fix his issue, find him a new girl to get strung out over (one he had a chance with). But Pete didn't. He didn't reach out or say anything or randomly produce a girl's cell number.

That was that.

When Johnny pulled up to their apartment building, Sharon was the last to get out. Berg winced when he opened the doors to the lobby. Bright light poured out, but he didn't shy away. There was something liquid-y about the walk from the car up to their apartment, he thought. Again, it was silent. No one felt like speaking. Least of all Berg. The hallway was dark, and he reached into his pocket for the key, fishing around for a moment before realizing it was empty. Berg paused. Pete slowed to a stop behind him, quickly sensing that something was wrong. The silence had to be broken.

Berg felt sick as he spoke. "My key..." He glanced at Pete and then at their door. "I left my key in England." It didn't feel right for anyone else to hear his words except for Ashley. He had spent so long speaking only for her, whenever she was around, that now everything he said was another crash of the gong in his head that said _"You aren't good enough for her."_ It rang over and over and over again, filling his mind with noise he didn't need right now. _"She doesn't love you, loser."_ He felt so stupid. _"You'll be alone forev--"_

"Fuck England." Pete's voice broke through the din by some miracle, and Berg bit his bottom lip to anchor himself. "I got mine." Pete reached into his back pocket and pulled it out, walking smoothly up to their door and unlocking it easily.

"Thanks man," Berg said hoarsely, rubbing his forehead. "Must be outta my mind."

"No problem. I got your back, right?" Pete said, turning to face Berg and pushing open the door with his back.

Berg nodded and followed his friend inside.

It was hard to sleep. Pete was in his bedroom with the door locked, like usual, and suddenly the world felt like no one had ever been in this world with Berg in the first place. He was all alone. He always had been. Like in the Twilight Zone. It was cold and dark and deserted. No matter how many times he listened to Pete's rough snore, or how many times he got up to check that Pete's latest model was laying out on the coffee table, or to stare at the beer Sharon had opened last time she was here, half empty on the counter, he couldn't convince himself that other people actually existed. That he wasn't just making it up in some horrible hallucination.

Loneliness.

It was a familiar feeling. The reason why he obsessively dated people. Yet, somehow, he never got used to it. The creeping, neurotic fear that he was all alone and always would be. Still chilled his bones and made him want to burst after twenty-something years of living with it.

It was okay though, and he would be okay. He always was in the morning.

Berg lay awake in the dark, staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom. It was plain white, shaded blue and black and grey with night. A siren played smoothly in the distance, getting farther away and then closer, then farther again. Berg thought about what he would do tomorrow, or, more importantly, _how_ he would do tomorrow. How to talk and act like he was normal, not forever changed.

Maybe he was being dramatic. Maybe he was just suffering from a little broken heart, a small cold instead of a terminal disease. Maybe he would be in love again someday. Perhaps there was no reason for all of this melancholy. It was easier to believe that he'd never feel the same again, though. Easier to believe in the sadness than eventual joy. What was the use of happiness that wasn't there yet, anyway? Why would you ever believe in something you had once but didn't anymore?

He slipped out of bed and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, settling down on the couch. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

By morning, Berg was wasted. There were five empty bottles scattered around him, one spilling its dregs out onto their carpet. Pete found him like that, surprisingly conscious but otherwise completely not functioning. He was more wasted than Pete had seen him since their covert high school graduation party (that had really just been the two of them, Jenny L, and her boyfriend). He looked miserable. It was hard to watch.

"Berg, buddy, do y'think you should maybe, I don't know... sleep?" Pete asked him, walking over with a plate of fresh toast.

"Aw, thanks," Berg slurred, reached up, and grabbed the toast. He wolfed it down, and Pete sighed.

"That wasn't for you," he said, but it fell on deaf ears.

Berg blinked heavily.

"Have you slept at all? Your eyes are bloodshot."

Berg snorted. "Abso-- Absul-- Abs... Ab-so-slut-ly not."

Pete set the plate down on the coffee table and held out his hand. "Come on. I'll get you to your bed."

"S'time to dance!" Berg cried, and took Pete's hand before Pete could back away.

"No, you need to sleep."

Berg began to sway dangerously. "C'mon, it'll be fun. Like at that... ohh, the stupid wedding."

Pete grabbed his friend before Berg could fall completely over, which Berg mistook as an agreement. Pete sighed as Berg let out a slurred cheer and dipped Pete. Drunk as he was, he could still dance like a debutante.

"Fine. One dance. Then you have to go to bed."

"Okay, big boy," Berg pouted, and Pete felt a shiver go up his spine. Weird. It wasn't even cold in here. In fact, with Berg's body heat, it was getting hotter by the second. Not that Pete was feeling any particular way about that.

They did whatever mix of a waltz and a tango intoxicated Berg could lead Pete through, sways and twirls and dips, and one move Pete'd seen him do with Ashley, the one where she brought her thigh up on Berg's hip. Berg had lead him through how to do it without straining his muscles, and Pete figured it would be useful if he ever had to dance the tango with someone he liked. Who would be a girl. Because. Girls. It was amazing how good drunk Berg was good at teaching things.

"Why did you show me that?" Pete asked, as Berg pushed him out and he did a sloppy twirl.

"Equal opportunity sexy dancer," Berg replied, his eyes focused intensely on Pete's.

"Ah," Pete answered. "When does this dance end?"

"When I fall over."

Pete sighed and resigned himself to it. It wasn't painful and Berg seemed happy, at least on the surface. The lack of music guiding them felt strange to Pete, but Berg seemed fine without it. He probably had a song stuck in his head that he was dancing to. He always seemed to be humming something when he wasn't talking incessantly. He wasn't humming now, though, but he wasn't talking. Pete wondered what was going on in his head, if there was anyway to know. It was always hard to read Berg, but somehow when he got drunk it was even harder.

Well, there's always the easy route. "What's on your mind, Berg?"

Berg giggled. "My parietal bone."

Pete sighed. "I mean, what are you thinking about?"

"Ashley."

"What about her?"

"She's pretty. And funny. Charms. She made so many jokes at me and I thought they were funny. S'unfair."

Berg dipped him without warning, bring their faces close together. Pete could pratically taste the beer on Berg's breath, thick and piney. Their bodies pressed together battled the cold so well, and Pete didn't want to leave his embrace. Then there was a heavy thumping at the door and Berg jumped, then lost balance, crashing into Pete and causing him to fall. They were both on the carpet, Pete flat on his back and Berg curled on top of him.

"One minute!" Pete shouted to whoever was at the door.

"I'm waiting!" Sharon sing-songed back.

"I'll talk too," Berg mumbled, propping himself up over Pete by his elbows. He caught Pete's eye, and grinned. Pete's heart sped up.

"Can you get off me, Berg? I need to go let Sharon in."

"Pete's kinda cute," Berg said, still mumbling. "I think I should--"

"That's nice, buddy, can you get off me?"

"Get yourself off!" Berg said, then burst into giggles.

Pete glared. "Alright." He tried to push Berg off, but Berg was bigger than he was and Pete had never been athletic. "Berg, I mean it, get off me!" _Serves me right for trying to help him._ Berg let out a little, almost imperceptible sigh, and rolled off onto his back.

"Sorry, Pet. Just get carried away," he murmured, and instantly Pete felt bad about snapping at him.

"Wait," Pete said, standing up and brushing himself off. "Did you just call me 'Pet'?"

Berg snickered. "Yeah. Fits."

Pete rolled his eyes, but his anger had already evaporated into annoyance. "It does not."

"Does too."

"Does not."

"Does too."

Pete opened the door. Sharon threw up her hands. "Finally! Do you know how cold it is in these stupid hallways?!"

"S'Pete a pet?" Berg asked, sitting up before swaying slightly and collapsing back down onto the floor.

Sharon closed the door behind her and studied Pete for a moment, arms folded.

"I am not a pet, Berg," Pete replied, his voice going high. "I don-"

"Shush, Pete, I'm trying to think." There was a long bit of silence where Sharon thought. Berg made faces at Pete, stretching his lips out with his hands, and Pete crossed his arms and stuck his tongue out at Berg. If there was one person who could bring him down to their level instantly, it was always Berg. Pete didn't even know how he did it, how he knew which buttons to push. It was like Berg's superpower. The idea that immature, overly confident Berg had a superpower and Pete didn't was irritating.

In Berg's drunken mind, he had become convinced that Pete had a superpower. Not like the cool kind of superpower, like Deadpool (the coolest superhero ever, obviously), but more like the kind that made Berg's body go all hot and his mind go on offense when it came to wanting to be Prince Charming. If he weren't intoxicated at the moment, Berg might have realized that this "superpower" was actually a mix of two things: (1) he was in love with Pete and (2) he was overcompensating because someone had just broken his heart and he needed to feel confident in himself again.

However, Berg was greatly intoxicated and his brain had become a glorified tape deck with a Wonderwall cassette stuck in it. No epiphanies were happening.

"Yeah," Sharon said out of the blue. "I think it fits."

Pete let out a frustrated sigh and shook his head. "You guys--"

"What were we talking about?" Berg slurred, and Sharon raised an eyebrow.

"Wait a second, Berg are you..." She frowned. "Drunk? Good God, what did you do to yourself?"

"M'not drunk," Berg said, drunkenly.

"He's drunk."

"I know! Why?"

"Ashley," Pete and Berg said at the same time, and Berg lapsed into a fit of hysterical laughter.

Sharon's face softened. "Oh, right. Poor Berg. Come on, have you had breakfast?"

Berg shook his head.

"He had a piece of toast," Pete corrected. "I think he should get some rest. He's been up all night."

"I think I should take lines of coke, but no one cares about me," Berg slurred, stretching to pat Pete's shoulder in what was supposed to be a comforting manner.

"It's because we care about you that we won't let you do coke," Pete replied, padding away to the kitchen. "Plus, I don't think any of us have any."

"I do."

"Well, of course you do, Berg," Sharon said. "But we weren't supposed to tell Pete about that, remember?"

Berg rolled his head. "Aw, but s'no fun to not tell Pete about my shit. Pete s'always got another thingy."

Pete frowned. "Whatever, you two. Berg, you promised me you'd go to bed now. Do you want to do it the hard way or the easy way?"

"Hard way!" Berg cheered, pumping his fist like a child and grinning.

Pete rolled his eyes and Berg felt a flutter in his pulse. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah!"

Pete walked over to Berg lazily, almost resisting the motion, and Berg bounced on the balls of his feet, animated with excitement. Sharon watched the whole scene with a mix of horror and amusement, her left eyebrow half raised, holding back laughter. Pete scooped Berg up in his arms, adjusting him until they were both comfortable. Berg threw his arms around Pete's neck and laid his head down on his friend's shoulder, eyes sparkling with impish joy. Pete was warm around Berg, and it felt good on his aching muscles to be carried, supported by someone he knew wouldn't let him down. Pete sighed once more to highlight the fact that he was definitely not enjoying this, and carried Berg to his room. He laid him down on his bed gently. Berg let his huge grin fade into something goofy and sweet. Pete tucked him, making sure the covers were straightened so they wouldn't be uncomfortable and he wouldn't get cold.

"Just go to sleep, Berg. You'll feel better about... her when you wake up."

"Promise?"

Pete winced. "I... no. But I really think so."

Berg hummed something to himself, then his eyes fluttered shut. Pete turned around and started to walk out. "Thanks, Pet," Berg mumbled, waving a hand.

"I got your back, buddy."

"Will you still be here... later?"

Pete turned around and nodded. "Of course. I'm not going anywhere."

Berg hummed again, and fell into the deep warmth of sleep fast. It felt good, better than Pete carrying him, better than sex, better than getting drunk. Dreams faintly slid past his consciousness, but they weren't troubling. Normal things like stupid, nonsense conversations and montages of making dinner. It was almost nice.

* * *

"I'm just saying, they tell you in school oxford commas are unnecessary. They're literally optional. So they're unnecessary. It's agreed upon by academics, or whatever smart crackheads control our lives."

Pete frowned. "But they're a part of the language. Why would we have something ingrained in our language that was unnecessary?"

"Plenty of things in English are completely unnecessary! Like a and an. They're just there to make stuff sound nicer. Did you know that in Latin they didn't have any articles at all?"

Pete laughed. "You sound like Berg right now."

Sharon pouted. "Do not."

Pete laughed again. "You really do."

"Do me?" A hoarse voice asked, a few feet away from the couch where Pete and Sharon were hashing it out over the oxford comma. "Oh, God, note to self: never try to make sex jokes during a hangover," he said to himself, then rubbed his forehead. "They're not as funny."

Pete's face lit up. "Berg! How's the hangover?"

"Like I got hit by a truck. So, much better."

Sharon gave him a sympathetic look. "Come on over here, sit down. I'll get you some water."

Berg ambled over to the couch and sat down next to Pete, resting his head on Pete's shoulder and looking up at him, batting his eyelashes. "Hello there, beautiful idiot."

Pete grinned. "And... you're back. Good. You hadn't insulted me for two days, I was starting to worry that this whole Ashley business had done a number on your heart."

"Oh, you know it has. But I could never give up making fun of you. It's just too easy." Sharon handed him a glass of water and sat down next to them. He took three long gulps, draining the glass in a matter of seconds. "Thanks, Shar."

She ruffled his hair. "No problem, bud. How're you feeling about... y'know?"

"You guys don't have to tiptoe around it with me. You can say her name."

"Then you say it first," Pete said, looking down at Berg.

Berg stuck his tongue out. "Ashley," he said, voice light and shivering.

"Ashley."

"Ashley." Pete spit out her name, the amount of vitriol in his voice borderline violent. Berg raised an eyebrow and let himself smile up at his friend.

"How do you feel about Ashley?"

"I feel like sleeping forever." Berg looked at Pete, then tilted his head and looked at Sharon. "I don't know what to do anymore. There's just a hole where she used to be. What am I gonna do instead of impress her constantly and make jokes at her expense? What am I supposed to say? What am I supposed to do?" He let himself rest his head on Pete's shoulder again, and closed his eyes. "And it hurts. A lot."

"I'm sorry," Pete said, and Sharon nodded.

"Yeah, sorry Berg. What will make you feel better?"

"Co--"

"Not coke."

"Oh, alright, if you're gonna have a stick up your ass. How about some good old fashioned larceny?"

"Larceny from who?"

Berg shrugged slightly. "Stealer's choice."

"We're not thieving anything, Berg and Pete," Sharon interjected. "I have a date with Johnny tonight and it's not going to be a jail date if I can help it. I know you two don't mind getting put in jail as long as you're together, but frankly I find the florescent lights too harsh and the company annoying."

"Hey, that was _one_ time," Pete said, trying to frown. Both he and Berg burst into furious laughter about half a second later, though.

Sharon shook her head. "I've got to go get ready. We're driving out to that really good Olive Garden, and it takes like an hour to get there."

Berg frowned. "What time is it?"

"Four sixteen."

"I've been asleep for most of the day? Why didn't either of you wake me up?"

Pete shrugged. "We were having an impassioned debate on the oxford comma." Berg sighed dramatically.

"Oh-kay boys, I'll see you two tomorrow!" Sharon said, jumping up and grinning. "Berg, feel better soon. I'm sure whatever you and Pete come up with will be _healthy_ and _not dangerous_." She smiled at them as she said it, gritting her teeth. "And if it isn't those things, I'm not paying bail, taking your phone calls, or visiting. Love you both!"

"Bye Sharon!"

"Love you!"

There was a stretch of silence, as long as Berg's stretched-out body.

"So," Pete started.

Berg hushed him immediately. "It's comfortable," he explain when Pete made a sound of protest. "Let us be."

So Pete did. They sat like that for an indeterminable amount of time, Berg spread across the couch and resting against Pete, who was sitting lazily, comfortably stuffed into a corner of the sofa. It was nice. Peaceful in an unexplainable sort of way, a way Berg's closest friend didn't get much around him. Usually this kind of languid companionship was reserved for dates with long-time partners, not random days with your hungover and heartbroken best friend.

They were long-time partners, Pete supposed. In a different way than lovers were partners, of course.

Of course.

* * *

It was that night when Berg started drinking again. The sun had set, and it was cold and Berg was complaining about being cold, and Pete had gotten too tired to argue with him about beer anymore. He got up to go get them both the favored alcoholic beverage, and when he handed it to Berg, he cheered. Pete just shrugged and slumped down on the couch next to Berg, their knees touching slightly. Berg threw his legs over Pete's and took a long swig.

"Ahh," he sighed, hoisting the bottle above his head. "That's more like it!"

"Berg, we should not get drunk. One bottle, then we go to bed or watch a movie or something."

"Okay, okay, calm down. _Pet_."

Pete whipped his head around to glare at Berg. "How do you remember that?"

Berg tapped his forehead. "With my memory, buddy. I can see why you aren't the one who wants to be a doctor."

"I mean, you were drunk as a dog."

Berg shrugged. "I'm kind of amazing. Don't know if you noticed."

Pete let out a short laugh. "Yeah, I noticed." He took a long drink of his beer.

"Are you already halfway done with that?" Berg asked, his eyes going wide.

"I've had a long day."

"Well, I've gotta catch up. And if we're not getting drunk, you probably shouldn't drink the whole thing. We both know how badly you hold your booze."

"Oh, please, Berg, I'll be..." Pete searched for the word for a moment, biting his lip. Berg watched him intently, his brain focused not on the fact that Pete was probably tipsy already if he couldn't remember the word he was looking for, but on his teeth, pressed against the skin of his lips. "Fine!" Pete got at last, snapping Berg out of his trance.

Berg rolled his eyes. "Sure."

"I swear!" Pete said, taking another sip. "Look at me, do I look tipsy to you?"

Berg looked at him for a minute before leaning over and pressing his hand to Pete's cheek. "Yes, Pet. Your cheeks are red. You're speaking slightly too fast. You look tipsy."

Instead of responding, Pete closed his eyes and leaned into Berg's touch. Berg's heart went fast, but he stayed still. He didn't want to disturb Pete, or whatever was happening.

"You're soft," Pete said, his voice airy and slurred.

"God, you get drunk quicker than I remember," Berg said before he could stop himself, but Pete didn't even seem to hear him.

Berg felt a little bit dizzy, and a little bit nervous gnawing in his belly, and a little bit giddy. His mind was off of Ashley for the first time in a week, though of course he didn't realize that, and it felt _great_. Or maybe that was just the forbidden touch. Pete nuzzled Berg's hand, and Berg bit back a grin.

"When did you get so soft?"

"As soon as you took that first sip of beer, buddy," Berg answered easily.

"I'm not a buddy," Pete said, sitting up suddenly and looking at Berg, eyes wide. "I thought I was a pet."

Berg nearly did a spit take. "Yeah, sure... Pet. You're... my pet."

Pete smiled at that, and drained the last bit of his drink. Berg had become to enraptured to remember that he was supposed to be drinking, but when he saw Pete finish his and Berg was only 3/4 of the way through, well, he finished all of his one long gulp too. "I'm gonna go grab another one of these. I would offer you one, but I'm not sure that's such a good idea right now." Pete just stared at him lazily as he stood and walked over to the refrigerator. "What has happened to me? I'm not supposed to be the responsible one, Pete," he muttered, mostly to himself. "I'm the devil on your shoulder." He turned around sat back down on their couch, sighing dramatically. "Why do you get adorable so quickly?" He mused, only halfway addressing Pete.

Pete was slumped against the couch cushions. He blew a raspberry and batted his hand at Berg. "M'not cute, ever. M'macho. Strong. You're the looker."

Berg blinked. "This may be the strangest night of my life."

"Stranger?"

"What?"

"Wanna make it stranger?" Pete had a mischievous grin on his face, and was leaning dangerously close to Berg's face.

"Nope, Pete, you'll regret it in the morning. I swear to God, what is wrong with me? Suddenly I'm being responsible, refusing your requests. Of all people, Pete. Of all people!" Berg shook his head and leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. "I don't like being responsible. Pete, you should get sober. Right now."

Pete blew another raspberry and copied Berg, leaning back against the couch.

Berg drank his second beer in five minutes, let out an unseemly burp, and sat up. "Allll-righty folks! S'time for me to head out, okay?"

Pete sat up, and frowned at Berg. "No. That doesn't."

Berg blinked. "That doesn't what?"

"What?"

"What?"

They burst into a fit of giggles, Berg doubling over. As the laughter petered out, Pete scooted closer to Berg. Berg smiled at him, sloppy and happy.

"Can I hold your hand?" Pete asked, and Berg blushed like they were middle school. Berg nodded, suddenly shy, and produced his hand for Pete to hold. He grabbed it. There was something sweet about the motion. Chaste, in a sense. Here were two grown adult best friends, holding hands.

 _Well,_ Berg thought. _Not friends much longer if I can help it._

"What?" Pete asked, and Berg froze.

"Did I say that out loud?"

"I don't wanna stop being friends with you, Berg."

"We don't have to stop."

"Why'd you say that then?"

"I..." Berg shook his head. "Not sure."

Pete hummed his understanding, face lighting up like a sparkler at the prospect of not stopping being friends.

"I think I have a way to stop your broken-ed heart," Pete slurred, and Berg raised an eyebrow.

"What is it?"

"Well, so there's you, right? Scared of being alone."

"How'd you know?"

"Magic!" Pete said, giving Berg jazz hands and bursting into furious laughter. Once he had recovered, he continued laying out his plan, surprisingly serious. "And there's also me. And we've been friends-together for like, phhht, for... _ever_. So I'm guaranteed not to break your heart. Right?" Berg nodded, his head sluggishly trying to keep up with Pete's lighting fast, not-really-logic logic. "So I'm the one! But, like, you're The One. Not my The One. Unless..." There was a minute of silence in which Berg decided that the optimal thing to do right now was _not_ pass out. Pete's eye went wide, and he leaned in closer. "Oh my God, Berg," Pete whispered. Berg leaned into too, until their foreheads were touching. He was caught off guard by how pretty Pete's eyes were this up close, sparkling and brown and adorable.

"Yeah, Pet?"

"We're our ones."

"What?"

"M'mean... we're soulmates, y'know? We're meant for each other."

Berg narrowed his eyes. "M'not sure that makes sense."

"So, listen, we're known each other for-- forever, right?"

"Right," Berg nodded, bumping their foreheads together.

"And in movies, it's either the new... human, or it's the one that's been there forever. And Ashley was the new one, she didn't do the thing. So it must be us. _We're supposed to do the thing!_ "

Berg groaned at Pete's sudden raising of the volume, but was nodding simultaneously. "Okay, I... I understand. Yeah. S'our time. What's the thing?"

"What thing?"

"The thing that's... ours."

"Oh, oh, oh, I don't know the word but it's when you like someone for a really long time and then you stay with them until you're dead."

Berg nodded slowly. "I've liked you for a really long time."

Pete let out a laugh. "I've liked you too! We're such..." He trailed off, then took a deep breath. "Kiss me?"

Berg grinned. "Yeah."

And he kissed him. It was sweet -- so sweet it made him want to sing, and wonder what in the world Pete had eaten today. He flicked his tongue over Pete's lips, which his friend (boyfriend? A question for tomorrow morning's Berg, he decided) responded to favorably, opening his mouth and letting out a little keen of pleasure. Berg let his hands trail over Pete's body, one exploring the small of his back and the other around his neck. Pete was amazingly warm, and it felt so good against his cold hands. After a few long, mellow moments of what was either the epitome of friendship or the end of it all together, Pete pulled away. He was breathing hard, and so was Berg. Berg smiled at him, and felt an awful lot as if he was in a dream.

"That was wonderful," Pete whispered. "Are we allowed to?"

Berg shrugged, his movements relaxed. "Why not?" He leaned in again, but Pete put his hand over Berg's face.

"We should stop for tonight. Otherwise, we're gonna have sex that might be a bad decision. Sharon told us to be healthy."

Berg nodded again. "'Course." It was a moment before he noticed that Pete had passed out in his arms. "Night night, Pet," he whispered, his voice light with both intoxication and joy.

* * *

The next morning was very, very bright, according to both Pete and Berg. It was also very loud, and everything was moving too fast despite the fact that nothing in the room was moving at all. They had agreed mere minutes after Pete woke (ever the sleepyhead compared to Berg) that this was what Hell must be like. Neither had dared to move from their entanglement so far, which was actually not that entangled. Pete simply rested on Berg's lap, on top of one of Berg's arms.

"So," Pete said.

Berg groaned. "Too loud," he muttered. "Stupid drinks."

"We need to talk about what happened last night, otherwise everything is going to get very awkward very quickly."

"Counterpoint: Do we, though?"

"Yes."

"Fine. We kissed. There, done, talked about, checking it off my to-do list. Now it's to-done."

Pete rolled his eyes. "If I had the willpower to get up, I would be storming off to my room right now."

"But you don't because you love me." Wow. That was maybe not the best choice of words right now, Berg told himself.

"I'm pretty sure it's the hangover, Berg."

"Okay," Berg sighed, wincing. "Fine. What do you have to say about it?"

He listened as Pete took a few deep breaths. "I... My God, Berg, I liked it."

Berg felt his body tense up. Pete... liked it? He enjoyed kissing his wreck of a roommate? That was what he meant, right? "Did you forget the 'didn't' in that sentence?"

"No."

"Oh."

"And, Berg, what if I was right? When I was drunk, and I said we are each others' The One? Because usually you know, when you say things when you're drunk, and you remember it, and then it feels wrong. You ask yourself why you would say that or even think that."

Pete paused, and Berg nodded sleepily. "Mhmm. Yeah. I've said one too many things while drunk not to know the feeling."

"I don't feel that way about what I said."

It took Berg another moment of processing to realize the implications of that statement. "You don't?"

Pete sat up, rubbed his head, and then shook it. "No." He glanced at the floor. "What about you?"

"I..." Berg could feel his chest tighten. "I'm..."

Pete put a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Berg. Either way."

He closed his eyes. "I liked it too. I loved it. I... I might... I dunno, it's kinda far-fetched but I might love you, too."

Pete grinned, and Berg grinned back. He couldn't help it. An infectious kind of joy spread through him, and despite the hangover and the broken heart, he felt like everything might be okay. Pete pulled him into a kiss, and it was gentle and sweet; the perfect hangover remedy.


End file.
